


Waking Up

by MountainRose



Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous Universe, Gen, Injury Recovery, Sleep, Unconsciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 19:44:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3423311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MountainRose/pseuds/MountainRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five shorts about waking up, and one about waking someone up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

> A tumblr fic collection, though the original posts are lost in my archive somewhere.

Tony woke up as Steve stepped out into the open air. It was warmer, out on the patio, and the sun was wonderfully strong. The sounds of Manhattan drifted over the Mansion's gardens, and closer at hand, the soft rush of bowstring and arrow let Tony know where Clint was.

He didn't bother opening his eyes just yet.

There was a faint jolt as Steve stepped down onto grass, but Tony's head was cradled against Steve's collarbone, safe and sound as ever.

He sleepily licked his lips and rubbed his bare toes together and curled his fingers in Steve's shirt and slowly, very slowly, made his way towards being awake.

"Hey, there. There's something I thought you'd like to see..." Steve's voice was a rumble against his cheek and a soft breath of air in his ear, and Tony'd wake up just for that, most days.

Tony obediently shifted his head and opened his eyes, looking over his lawn.

Down by the trees, Natasha and Thor were tossing targets, everything from Frisbee's to deadwood, for Clint to shoot, while the Hulk, grinning and _cheerful_ , held him on his shoulders.

"Y--" Tony broke off with a huge yawn; regrowing muscles was tiring. "You're a sap, Steve," Tony said, but he didn't look away or try to hide the soft contentment spilling out all over the place.

"Good morning to you too, Tony."

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tony was really, truly _asleep_. And determined to stay that way. He was in his own bed, it was warm, there was sunlight on his back; he wasn't going anywhere. Nope. Request denied.

"I brought you food, Tony, come on, man..."

Tony didn't _care_ if Clint had brought him Naked Steve, in a kiss the cook apron, along with the pancakes he could smell. He was asleep, and thus oblivious. Obviously.

It had been a long week, okay? And physio didn't agree with him.

"Look, I even bought coffee." The bed dipped behind his back and Clint's shadow got in the way of his solar massage. "I know it sucks, okay? You know I've been there." Clint's hand was big and warm on Tony's shoulder, which still ached from his evening physio. And his afternoon session. And the wake up call. "It's going to _work,_ Tony."

"Damnit Clint, can't a man sulk in peace?" Tony grumbled into the pillow, relaxing back so he was leaning on the archer, who was already in physio-soft clothes, damn him.

"Yeah, if he's eating. Come on, They're Steve Pancakes."

Tony let Clint help him sit up, and then started eating the miniature pancakes with his fingers, frowning and serious, despite the deliciously sweet, buttery, Steve-generated foodstuff. Though it was making a valiant effort to cheer him up. "I'm... yeah, I'm on this, Clint, I'm not giving up. I just--"

Clint nodded, turning his back to hide from the feelings. "Yeah, man. Bed's good. I get it."

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Stark."

Tony groaned into the faceplate, then coughed; filters were broken, dust in his air supply. Concrete? No, he licked his teeth, grimacing; rock. He opened his eyes to a black HUD, just the emergency eye slits showing any light; grey stone, lit in arc reactor blue, two, maybe three meters up. What a fuckup; first mission back and he was trapped in a cave. Fuck it.

" _Iron Man."_

Tony groaned again because _head injuries._ Ugh... "Present. Power's out."

"Shockingly enough, we noticed. Emergency locks came on; back injury?"

Natasha really... not one for mincing her words."What? No. I’m ... okay, so I know you never believe me when I say ‘fine’." All this talking was giving him stars, but not blackouts so, his head wasn’t too bad. "Scalp wound, ‘s bleeding a bit. Doesn't feel too bad but the lockdown trigger's automatic."

Tasha grumbled at him, presumably in Russian, before switching back to English and raising her voice to make it clear over the distortions the helmet produced. "Tunnel collapse, Cap and Hulk are digging us out. My ankle's out of commission. You remember how we got here?"

"You mean the mark four quinjet we left topside or the Hydra Anomalies that brought down the roof?" Tony mumbled up at her, not bothering to move with the spinal articulations locked and hoping her ankle was a sprain rather than a break. "Chin latch should still be on battery."

Black obscured the ceiling for a second, then the faceplate lifted off. Cold air flowed over his face, fresh and only slightly dusty.

“Hello, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Hah, hah.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He woke up groggy, like he'd taken a header, only without the headache. Role-call on his limbs came back positive; nothing broken or missing, except his armour, but he ached in a kaleidoscope of ways that boded nothing good.

At least he was warm.

Drugged? Probably. Cognitively compromised? Oh yes. But at least he wasn't cold.

"Fuck them, Steve... Fuck ketamine. Also tunnels. Like caves, only drafty." He stuffed his nose into the crook of Steve's neck, snuffling irritably, because of course Steve was the reason he was warm and felt relatively secure.

"Morning, Stark. Sorry about the armour, keep still or you'll knock off the space blanket."

"Bossy, bossy..." Tony mumbled, settling back down. and curled his fingers under the edge of Steve's body armour.

 

XXXXXXXXXX

He was genuinely surprised to wake up to a clattering, stumbling kind of noise.

No one he lived with had that little grace, and Rhodey a. didn’t drink alone and b. was on the other side of the Atlantic.

He pushed up onto his elbows, squinting and frowning into the dark; whoever it was hadn’t turned the hall light on. Natasha or Clint then, and the bumping about was too heavy to be Natasha. Not that he thought Clint couldn’t be silent, because he could, but that he was pretty sure Natasha hadn’t put on fifty pounds since dinner.

Sighing, because this probably wasn’t good, Tony popped the buttons on his pjs and exposed the arc reactor. Clint’s eyes glinted in the sudden light, just for a second, then vanished, over by the dresser. Tony’d left his shoes by it, Clint must have tripped over them.

“Hey, Clint, everything okay?” he muttered, scrubbing one hand through his beard. “Nightlights, JARVIS, I’ve already ruined his nightvision.”

JARVIS hummed near-silently and brought the lights up in the bathroom. Thank god for dimmer switches. Clint’s ankle was momentarily visible as a shadow against the dim line of light under the bathroom door, but it vanished again, and Tony couldn’t see jack shit.

“T-Tony?”

 _oh boy_.

“Yeah, Clint; you’re in my room, buddy, I’m alone, we’re safe.” Tony flopped back into the pillows, the reactor shining on the ceiling. Clint’s shuffling made a faint hushing noise against the carpet, and Tony felt the bed move a tiny fraction of an inch. Tony glanced over; Clint’s fingers were just visible as dark against the white sheets, clinging to the edge of the mattress.

“No gloves in bed, Clint. Take them off.”

“Okay...” The finger shaped shadows disappeared and Tony shuffled over, giving Clint a little light to work by and for Tony to see by.

He’d guessed right; Clint was in full mission gear, urban camo and anti-glare paint included. He mechanically stripped off the gloves, tugging the pullguard off first, then the cinch. Tony mumbled a prompt about boots, and Clint took those off too.

“ _Tox-screen is clear, sir. I recommend rest and hydration, but no further intervention,”_ JARVIS whispered in his ear. Clint took no notice and just kept taking off his equipment, piling it up with almost obsessive precision.

“Alright, my assassin buddy, bedtime,” Tony ordered, pulling on Clint’s sleeve once he was down to undershirt and pants. “JARVIS, update Natasha when she wakes up.”

“ _Of course, sir. Water is in the bedside cabinet.”_

“Pushy...” Tony muttered back, pulling the covers up over his unusual visitor. Tony caught Clint licking his lips though, so he fished out a bottle and opened it for him. Clint did the rest, though Tony made him slow down half way through the bottle.

“You can sleep now, Clint. I’ve got you.”

Clint slept, and Tony tucked them both in and settled down to do the same.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 +1

 

“..fucking _bugs,”_ Tony swore, kicking his pillow back towards the bed. His hands shook with the aftermath of the sudden wake up call, adrenalin racing through his system at a pace his arc reactor objected to.

Strenuously.

_fucking nightmares._

They’d managed to get inside his armor, by virtue of some weird hive-mind effort to peel him out of his shell, and he wouldn’t forget the sensation of them crawling between him and the control surfaces any time soon. Not to mention the sudden lack of air as they’d blocked up the circulatory systems.

Grumbling and still on the knife edge of fight-or-flight, Tony kicked his bed back into something approaching order and flopped down. He closed his eyes deliberately, aware of the media-unfriendly frown line he was generating between his eyebrows.

He made it three breaths before he was up again, crashing about his bedroom in aid of nothing in particular. “...fucking hive minded sons of bitches, see how you like it--...” he snarled, violently throwing grease-stained clothes into the hamper. The stack of laundry on his dresser was next to feel his irritation and he slammed socks and boxers into their drawers with unnecessary force. The drawers slammed home with a particularly satisfying ‘thump’, but he was left with nothing to tidy and his angry energy petered out into the exhausted aftermath of four days and an LD25 dose of _fucking_ _bug_ toxins. The bitey little fuckers. 

He crashed back into his bed, knees first, and crumpled onto the cool sheets. The minute he closed his eyes the itching of his skin, perfectly explained by the healing bites, turned into the crawling sensation of thousands of the fucking things, crawling all over him.

Tony could have sobbed, he really could have.

Instead, being a superhero and all, he fished out a tablet and irritated Rhodey’s phone until it summoned its owner.

“RHODEY!” Tony grinned into the camera. “How’s it going! Lovely day to be in the middle east. What time is it over there, anyway?”

 


End file.
